


Chopsticks, a Racing Pulse, and an Offer

by Diary



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Apartment Setting, Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Fail, Bisexual Greg Lestrade, Bottle Episode Fic, Chinese Food, Chopsticks, Gay Male Character, Gay Mycroft Holmes, Late Night Conversations, Male Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: Repost under different title. AU. Every Wednesday, they meet for Chinese. Complete.





	Chopsticks, a Racing Pulse, and an Offer

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock.

Every Wednesday, they meet for Chinese.

“My first is close to killing him.” Greg sighs. “Let it be noted she’s usually very professional.”

Mycroft smiles. “Perfectly understandable on her part. Sherlock has a special talent for getting under the skin of even the most dedicated, consummate of people. I take it he’s been acting up even more than usual due to the doctor becoming closer to that woman?”

Watching Mycroft grappling with his chopsticks, Greg retorts, “Acting up doesn’t even begin to cover it. If he doesn’t stop, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to order a search of his computer.”

“Unless my brother requests my help, I’ll stay out of it. Although, I would like to entreat you restrain DI Donovan from killing him.” More food slips through and falls back onto the plate.

“Don’t you routinely meet with Chinese officials?”

“There are ways around one’s incapacities, for lack of a better term,” Mycroft answers.

Laughing, Greg positions his. “Here, reach over and mimic.”

Mycroft does, and clicking them together, Greg pauses. “Your hand’s shaking. Are you okay, sir?”

“Fine.” Mycroft starts to withdraw his hand.

Clasping his free hand around Mycroft’s wrist, his fingers settle on the pulse point. “Your pulse is racing. Please, for the love of God, don’t tell me you have a drug habit, too.”

“No,” Mycroft says. Withdrawing his arm, he pushes his almost empty cup of tea over. “You’re free to have it tested.”

Pushing the cup back over, Greg shakes his head. “I don’t understand you, but I do trust you.”

“I’m not sure I particularly understand you, Detective Inspector. Sherlock likely has me beat in that area.”

“That seems like a safe guess.” Greg stretches. “Which means, depending on whether you trust me or not, there’s a chance he’ll be responsible for the newest crime scene much sooner than Sally expected. I’m going to bed, Mister Holmes.”

He stands. “If you’d like to join me, I have a fresh toothbrush in an unopened box. If not, please, lock the door when you leave.”


End file.
